


Five Times Harry Potter Lost and the Time He Won

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Almost Kiss, Angst, Competition, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Chicken, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Possible mild homophobic content, Post-Hogwarts, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: “What?” Harry asked, incredulous.“Gay chicken,” Ron repeated, swaying forward in his chair across from Harry. At his side, Hermione giggled, her cheeks pink with too much alcohol.“Thanks Ron, I actually heard you. I mean... why?”“‘Cause it’s fun!” he all but shouted.





	Five Times Harry Potter Lost and the Time He Won

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to sugaredsundrop and secretlycrazyhummingbird for being wonderful betas!
> 
> Mild homophobia warning: I'm not sure if what I've written is actually homophobic and there's been some debate so far, so I included this tag, just in case.

“What?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Gay chicken,” Ron repeated, swaying forward in his chair across from Harry. At his side, Hermione giggled, her cheeks pink with too much alcohol. 

“Thanks Ron, I actually heard you. I mean...  _ why? _ ”

“‘Cause it’s  _ fun _ !” he all but shouted.

“Shut it, Ron, it’s stupid,” Ginny said, leaning over the table from Harry’s side to smack him over the head. 

“Oi!” Ron cried. 

"Being gay isn't a bloody joke."

Hermione looked horrified. “Is— is that what it means?” she asked, hiccoughing a little.

“Yes,” Ginny said.

“No,” Ron whinged.

Harry wondered idly if he should tell his friends that, as a gay man, he did find it a bit offensive. But Ron was making a fool of himself and Hermione seemed to be catching on, so he decided to leave them to it. He glanced toward the door of the pub when a bell sounded, signalling the arrival of a new patron, and sighed as a stranger bustled in out of the cold. 

Draco was late.

Resigned, Harry settled in to listen to Ron and Ginny argue the finer points of latent homophobia in wizarding society until, with a weary sigh and an exhausted slump to his shoulders, Draco slid into the seat beside him.

“Ginevra’s on a roll, I see. What did I miss?”

“Ron’s being passively homophobic again,” Harry grunted, chin resting in his hand as he watched the back and forth like a tennis match, gaze swinging between his friends.

“Well, I had assumed as much. What’s he done, this time?” Draco lifted a finger to get a waitress' attention and ordered a glass of merlot. 

“Proposed a game of gay chicken.”

“Gay what?”

“Gay chickens!” Ron exclaimed, lifting his pint in the air and smiling like an idiot.

“For the love of—” Ginny muttered, then gulped at her own beer.

“No, Ron, no! You can’t play that anymore!” Hermione implored, pulling his face around to look him in the eye. “Harry is gay, you aren’t allowed to be hobophomic.”

Draco chuckled, taking a long pull from the wine glass that was set discreetly before him. “What exactly is gay chicken?"

"No, no, no, Hermione! I hafta tell him. S'okay, s'okay." Turning unsteadily to Draco, Ron grinned, then giggled. "Gay chicken, right? Is when two blokes—" 

"Straight blokes," Ginny interjected. 

"Right, two straight blokes—" he paused, snorting laughter, which set Hermione off in spite of her misgivings. "They go to kiss each other and— and— and— and— the first to chicken out  _ loses _ !" 

Pleased with himself, Ron took another swig from his empty glass. Draco frowned thoughtfully, tapping his finger against the stem of his own glass. 

"Could be fun," he began, sliding a sidelong glance at Harry. "What do you say Potter?" 

Harry stared for a moment, dumbfounded, then raised himself to sit straight backed in his seat. "Neither of us is straight," he said cautiously. 

"True, but nor do we want to kiss each other."

_ Well _ , Harry mused taking in Draco's tired eyes and amused smirk, the hair falling loose from the stubby tail at the nape of his neck.  _ That isn't exactly accurate, now is it, Harry? _

"What's the matter? Scared, Potter?" 

Harry let out a strangled laugh, then cleared his throat. Would the taunt never cease to work in Draco's favor? He doubted it. 

"You wish," he sneered, already regretting it. 

Before his eyes, Draco's face transformed. His eyelashes fluttered coyly until his eyes were seductively hooded. His mouth pursed into a sexy pout. His cheeks flushed pale pink. While Harry watched, helpless to do anything but, Draco turned to face him, leaning closer and staring pointedly at his lips. 

Harry swallowed thickly, breath stuck in his throat. Another inch and he could smell him, the intoxicating mix of citrusy soap and earth and  _ Draco _ . Another, and he could feel warm breath against his lips, and he still hadn't moved. 

Steeling himself, he resolved to change that. Summoning all of his Gryffindor courage, he leaned… away. 

His cheeks burned as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all laughed uproariously. His eyes were still on Draco, and the smug smirk that now stretched his glistening lips. When did they start glistening? 

"Looks like I win," Draco said, a bit redundantly, and Harry groaned. 

"Whatever," he griped. "It's just a stupid game."

———

Christmas carols lilted through the biting air on Diagon Alley, warm scents drifted from nearby pubs and restaurants, and the street was alive with shoppers, parents and grandparents, lovers, students home from Hogwarts, and children who were still too young to attend. All filled the space with shouts and peals of laughter, swept up in holiday cheer. 

Harry watched, amused, as Draco pointed toward Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, across the Alley. 

"Pansy has been raving about Primpernelle's newest line. Let's stop there after lunch."

Harry nodded, not really caring one way or another. Draco loved shopping. Harry loved getting his shopping  _ done. _ Going together was a win-win. Add in the fact that Harry loved watching Draco shop and it was a win-win- _ win _ . 

"D'you think Ron's mum would like something like that?" he asked, thoughtful. 

Draco frowned. "How old is she? She might find that a bit offensive."

"Yeah, probably. She doesn't care about wrinkles anyway."

"What does she like?" 

"Cooking," Harry answered, then paused. "And romance novels."

"Ugh, you're on your own."

And that was fine. Draco rarely actually helped him pick his gifts since he didn't know many of the people in Harry's life all that well. Usually, though, he threw out a few outrageous suggestions before conceding. He'd been reserved all morning, in fact. Well, as reserved as Draco ever could be. 

Shrugging it off, Harry followed him into Twilfitt and Tattings where Draco spent the next twenty minutes selecting a soft, woolen scarf in a pleasant shade of lavender for his mother before turning to the men's selection. Harry knew something was off when he only tried on three robes before making a selection and steering them back out into the cold. 

"Draco," Harry began, tugging lightly on his sleeve. "Are you—" 

But he broke off when Draco turned to face him, a smile brighter than the winter sun lighting his face, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. Before Harry could work out what exactly was happening, Draco's hand shot out and caught him around the back of his neck, the other lifting to press against Harry's chest as he rose to his toes and leaned in. 

Laughing, only a little from nerves, Harry stared him down, an inch away. He knew what was happening, now, but he also knew he'd lose again. He couldn't kiss Draco when he was like this, not for a joke. So, when Draco closed the distance between them, he did the only sensible thing. 

He turned his head, biting back a gasp when Draco's soft lips landed on his jaw, instead. 

Laughing delightedly, Draco released him and rocked back on his heels. "I win again!" he said in a childish, sing-song voice. 

"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled, secretly amused at the ridiculous performance. "Go get my present," he ordered, spinning on his heel. "I'll meet you in an hour."

And he marched away, determined to find something truly awful for Ron, this year. 

————

Soft music wafted through the brightly lit room where Harry waited in one of the two visitors’ chairs. He tapped his foot absently along. Beside him sat a crate of plants Neville had requested he deliver to Draco, as he did on occasion. 

The receptionist, Williams, eyed him with an unwarranted amount of suspicion and Harry smiled brightly. He liked Williams. He liked anyone who didn't look at him as the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Which was a big part of why he liked Draco. He had never once treated Harry like a celebrity, before or after the war. Sure, they were friends now, but the man could still throw a decent barb, when the mood struck him. 

"Potter," Draco called as he came through the double doors that led to his lab. "To what do I owe this immense pleasure?" 

Harry grinned and stood, hefting the crate and offering it in a grand gesture, all but bowing. "Master Longbottom sends his best; the very best in fresh potions ingredients."

"Oh, good! I was wondering when these would arrive."

While Harry still held the crate, Draco began rummaging through it, muttering distractedly to himself. Before long, Harry's arms began to feel the weight more intensely. 

"Er, Draco," he began, rolling his shoulders, and Draco immediately removed himself from his task. 

"Right, come along, then."

Together, they moved through the brightly lit corridors. The smells of St. Mungo’s permeated even this section of the hospital, where no patients ever visited. The crisp, clean scent of sterilisation spells and medicinal potions Harry was coming to know well from his time in Draco's lab. 

"Collins," Draco barked when they entered the lab, smirking when his overeager assistant came rushing from behind a stack of cauldrons. 

"Yes, Healer Malfoy?" 

Draco reached over to take the crate from Harry before passing it to Collins. "Take this to my office."

"I can take it, Draco, there's no need to—" 

"Oh, no, Auror Potter," Collins said quickly, sending the spears of leaves shivering violently when nearly bobbled the crate. "I've got this."

"Will that be all, Potter?" Draco asked, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his chin forward, petulantly. 

"You're terrible, Draco."

"What, giving the poor boy work to do? That isn't terrible." He grinned, that grin Harry was beginning to dread, and flicked his gaze back to his office door in time to see Collins returning. "This is terrible," he said, and threw himself forward into Harry's arms. 

"Jesus, Draco," Harry groaned, then kicked himself mentally. He was playing right into Draco's plan. 

Glancing at the shocked expression on Collins' face, Harry decided it was worth it, and leaned down until his lips were an inch from Draco's. 

"This is just cruel," he admonished. 

Draco grinned. "Wrong. This is hilarious. Are you going to kiss me, Potter?" 

Harry thought about it as he stood there, holding Draco's all but limp body in his grasp. He could kiss him, he wanted to. But not like this, not for a joke. Quirking a malicious grin, Harry bent them further back, until Draco was nearly horizontal, held up only by Harry's arms around his waist and his hands hooked over Harry's arms… 

And let go. 

With a yelp, Draco crashed to the floor, unable to hold himself up, but he lay there laughing for a bit longer than Harry expected. 

"I win again, Potter!" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Harry muttered. "At least I'm not sprawled out on the floor like a lunatic."

"Worth it."

A few feet away, Collins watched with a horrified expression as Harry Potter walked away leaving Draco Malfoy writhing with laughter on the floor. 

—————

"Hey," Harry said, slightly breathless as he bent to kiss Luna's cheek, then Pansy's, before taking his seat next to Draco. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's all good, mate," Blaise chuckled. "So long as you don't mind what Draco ordered for you."

Harry flinched. Draco was not kind when he was late. "What is it, this time?" he asked. 

"You'll just have to wait and see," Draco replied with a sneer. 

Smiling in spite of himself, Harry turned to Greg and Luna. "How's the remodelling going?" he asked, tucking his napkin over his lap. 

While they waited for their meal, Greg filled them in on the progress, with Luna chiming in at the oddest places. Nargle viewing stations and a garden for bowtruckles and gnomes. 

"I thought gnomes were pests," Harry said, as their meals arrived. It would seem Draco went easy on him; steak and roasted vegetables. 

"They are," Blaise deadpanned, eyeing Luna like she'd lost her mind. 

"Greg likes them," she said airily, slipping her arm through his where it rested on the table. 

"So," Pansy began brightly, clearly ready for a subject change. "Why aren't you two living together, yet?" She stared pointedly at the spot where Harry and Draco's elbows touched, one eyebrow arched. "The  _ Prophet _ is abuzz with talk of your relationship after that kiss on Diagon Alley last month."

Harry snorted. "We didn't kiss." Grabbing his fork and knife, he cut into his steak. Or, he tried to. After sawing for a moment, he turned to Draco. "Really? You had to take it out on the poor steak? It didn't do anything to you."

Draco laughed, full and loud, and Harry almost forgot that he was annoyed. God, he was beautiful. All soft, pale hair and skin, hard lines and sharp angles. Harry was drawn to him, pulled in like a magnet. Unable to reason himself out of it, he leaned forward, catching Draco's chin and guiding his face closer. 

Without warning, Draco smacked his hand to Harry's thigh, squeezing as his face altered dramatically, a suggestive leer taking over his handsome features and making him look more than a little sleazy. He raised one eyebrow and Harry laughed, using the hand still on Draco's chin to push him away. 

"God, you win!" he shuddered. "Don't ever look at me like that again."

Pansy and Blaise exchanged knowing looks while Greg focused on his food and Luna smiled serenely. 

He would get Draco, Harry swore. He'd win. And he wouldn't lose his heart doing it. 

———

Harry groaned, dropping into his chair and staring at the paper Ron passed him, along with a cup of coffee. Ron only brought him coffee when he needed to be cheered up. 

"Thought you should see this," he said, shuffling his feet and pointing to the photograph on the front page. 

Harry knew it would be there. The almost kiss from yesterday morning was still fresh in his mind. They'd planned it together, drunkenly giggling over a plot to send the press bonkers. But Harry didn't remember that at the time. He'd been surprised when Draco leaned in to kiss him goodbye at the door of number twelve, and had resolved to actually kiss him, if only to end the bloody game. 

He was almost there, could smell the sour scent of the alcohol he'd had the night before, could feel the warmth from his still sleep rumpled body. He had only to reach forward, to lean in a bit… 

The sound of a camera snapping jolted him away and he remembered the plan. And Draco was laughing, again. Telling Harry he'd never beat him. 

And he was right. 

Looking at the photo, now, Harry could see that he was doomed to lose. Even in the grainy black and white, he could see the want in his eyes, the desire written so clearly across his face. For a moment, he wished he could see Draco's face, then rejected the thought. The last thing he needed was to see that wicked grin that said he was about to win, yet again. 

Tilting his face to look back at Ron, he swallowed his longing and smirked. "I've seen it," he lied. 

"Oh.. Well, then do you want to talk about why you're being photographed kissing Malfoy?" 

Harry gritted his teeth. "Firstly, we didn't kiss," he said, then frowned. "And secondly, this is all your fault."

Ron looked taken aback. "It's my fault you're kissing Malfoy?" 

"No, it's your fault I'm  _ not  _ kissing him."

"Er," was all Ron said, eyeing Harry like he'd grown another head. "Come again?" 

Harry sighed. "That didn't come out right. It's not your fault I'm not kissing Draco, it's your fault he keeps pretending he's going to kiss me." Beyond frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair. “If you hadn't gone on about 'gay chicken,' this wouldn't be happening.”

"Oh. Well, shit." He had the good grace to look guilty, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "Do you want me to, er… talk to him?" 

His ears burned bright red and Harry very nearly said yes, tempted to let someone else deal with it for him. He opened his mouth, intending to give a simple no, but found himself blurting out the truth, instead. 

"No, I want him to fucking kiss me."

The rest of Ron's face lit up and he sputtered for a moment before turning to his desk and flopping into the chair. "Well, fuck."

"You can say that again." 

"You and, er, Malfoy, then?" 

Harry snorted. "Not bloody likely."

Ron frowned. "Why not? You're practically dating, as it is."

"You heard him that night," Harry said, incredulous. "He doesn't want to kiss me, he said."

Ron summoned the  _ Prophet _ , spread it out across his desk and tapped on the photo. "It looks like he wants to kiss you," he said. 

"We planned that," Harry argued morosely. "He came back to mine after the pub and slept in Teddy's room, but we planned to do that to screw with the people who think they know what I do with my life."

"So?"

"So? So he doesn't want me. He's made it clear."

"By trying to kiss you?" 

"It's a game, Ron! A game  _ you  _ started!" 

"I mean, yeah, but… I didn't make him keep doing it." Ron shrugged, folding up the paper and binning it. "Just saying, mate, it sounds a little suspicious."

Harry scowled, but Ron was already pulling his paperwork closer and digging out a quill, so he let it drop. It was ridiculous, of course, but it looked like he wasn't going to convince Ron. 

———

Groaning, Harry flopped himself on the sofa in Draco's flat, content for the moment to sink into the plush cushions and prop his socked feet on the little table in the center of the room. At least, until Draco came in with two wine glasses and a bottle of chardonnay and knocked his knees into Harry's until he lowered them. 

"And  _ Witch Weekly _ calls you the most eligible bachelor?" he scoffs. 

" _ Witch Weekly _ calls me lots of things I'm not," Harry says, replacing his feet. 

"That they do." Setting the glasses on the table, Draco poured and passed one to Harry. "To being single!" 

"To being single!" Harry repeated, lifting his glass. 

Draco sipped delicately before setting his glass back down and turning to Harry. "What horror film are we watching first?" 

Harry read the title, as if he'd never heard of it, before tossing the case aside. 

"Brilliant. Shall we?" 

While Harry summoned the remote control, Draco dimmed the lights and shifted to sit cross-legged. Then, with the press of a button, the film began. 

Suddenly, Harry was aware of everything but the film, from the temperature of the room to how close Draco was sitting to him, his body angled slightly toward Harry's and cradling his wine glass in his lap. He tried to focus on the film, to laugh at the appropriate moments, to respond when Draco made a cutting remark about the plot or the acting abilities. But nothing worked. 

He was losing it, Harry thought. All of those almost kisses were compounding in his mind, leaving him heart sick and desperate for a real connection with Draco. He felt himself pulling away, distancing himself from one of his closest friends and almost dreading their time together. This was worse than just being in love with the man. 

Draco laughed, a delighted sound, his head thrown back with it, and cried "Our love fern! You let it die!" 

Harry laughed nervously, tuning back in to see the pretty blonde glare accusingly at the leading man. Draco's voice drowned hers out, and his hand on Harry's knee had him very nearly jumping out of his skin. When he turned, Draco was looking right at him. 

"Are you going to let  _ us _ die?" he demanded, grinning. 

He wanted to answer that question, it seemed so relevant to what he was feeling. Were he and Draco dying? Would their friendship fizzle out because of this stupid game? What would Draco do if Harry kissed him, out of nowhere? 

He wanted to know. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he covered Draco's hand with his own and leaned across the space between them. Draco watched him, curiosity shining in his eyes, a smirk playing along his lips. He was daring Harry to do it, knowing he wouldn't. 

And he was right. An inch from Draco's lips, he froze. What was he thinking? This wasn't the way to mend whatever was breaking. It was all a game to Draco. 

"Are you going to kiss me, Harry?" Draco murmured, drifting imperceptibly closer. 

Harry shook his head, trying to clear the creeping fuzz of desire and despair and find the strength to move away, and Draco sighed, his hand leaving Harry's knee and closing around his chin, instead. 

"I'll rephrase," he breathed. "Kiss me, Harry."

Startled, Harry pulled back, but didn't get very far as the hand tightened, holding him in place. He searched Draco's eyes, his mind racing. "But, it's just a game!" he argued. 

"Yes, Potter, and neither of us wants to kiss each other," Draco repeated his words from that first night, but something was different. He sounded sarcastic. And he wasn't letting go, or turning away, or  _ laughing.  _

With a groan of frustration, Draco surged forward, muttered "Gods, you're thick!" and closed his lips over Harry's, tangling his hand in the mess of curls he usually insulted. 

Harry wasn't sure he knew what was happening. It almost felt real, he was aware of Draco's lips on his, of his tongue swiping over and between them as he deepened the kiss, but it felt far away, surreal, abstract. He thought about pinching himself, but decided that, if this  _ was  _ a dream, he didn't really want to wake up. 

He heard a long moan and Harry distantly recognized that it came from low in his own throat. Surely this was a dream. He'd fallen asleep on Draco's sofa and this was the result of months of almost kisses and frustration and longing. But, if it was a dream, there was no harm in kissing him back. 

Before he could, though, Draco was pulling away, frowning. "I— Harry what's wrong?" he asked, concern furrowing his brow. 

Harry whimpered. "Oh, nothing. I just dreamt that you kissed me, is all."

Draco grinned. "Was it a good dream?" he purred. 

"Mmhmm," he hummed, and his eyes fluttered closed. "Ow!" His eyes snapped open to find Draco smirking at him. 

"Are you awake, now?" 

Harry rubbed his arm where Draco had pinched it. "What was that for?" 

"Are you awake, Potter?" 

"Yes, Jesus."

"Good." Setting his glass aside, Draco rose to his knees and threw one leg over Harry's, straddling his lap and fisting his hands in his shirt. "Let's try this again."

He crashed their lips together for one searing moment. When he pulled away again, Harry blinked myopically up at him. "Oh."

"'Oh,' he says. Merlin, why do I even try?" Draco groaned, slapping at Harry's shoulder. "Hell, if Weasley hadn't suggested that stupid game, you'd have made me wait for years, wouldn't you? Bloody Auror can't take a hint."

Harry could feel the grin spreading across his face as Draco babbled. He wasn't dreaming. Draco had kissed him, twice. He could taste him on his lips, just as he could feel him pressed against his legs. Still in awe, Harry lifted a hand to cup one pale cheek, brushing his thumb over the smirk he still wore. Hesitantly, he tilted his face toward Draco's, capturing his lips gently, and finally kissed him back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember, kudos are love and comments validate my existence! ❤️


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